


Daylight

by Claire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom!Chris, M/M, sub!peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:12:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Chris sees something in Peter that makes him want</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daylight

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by Temaris

It's the look in Peter's eyes Chris notices first. Pupils wide and blown as Chris cuts the wolfsbane ropes around Peter's wrists. The bitten-off sound that comes from Peter's lips when Chris pulls the rope roughly seals it, though. It's heavy and sharp and full of want, and Chris can't help but think of Peter making that same noise, but under very different circumstances.

Chris doesn't realise he's wrapped his fingers around Peter's wrist until Peter looks at him, doesn't realise he's tightened his grip to almost bruising until Peter's tongue darts out to lick at his lower lip. And his mouth is only inches from Peter's when Scott's yell breaks the bubble surrounding them, has Chris jerking back and Peter moving away before Chris can stop him.

Peter avoids him after that. He doesn't look at Chris during pack meetings, neatly side-steps them ever being on patrol together, edges around the rest of the pack in a way that keeps him just out of Chris' reach.

And Chris should let it go, he _should_. But now that he knows, he can't stop thinking about it. It's been a long time since he's felt someone under his hand, taken them apart with a brutal touch, only to put them back together again. Victoria wasn't a sub, anything but, and his love for her outweighed his need for anything else. So he satisfied himself with visits to clubs every few weeks, dark and anonymous, with Victoria's permission. Satisfied himself with the strike of leather across skin in any way he could imagine, touching the subs who came to him, who begged him for more. But he never kissed them and he never fucked them, and he learned to live with it somehow being enough.

Chris hasn't gone back to any of the clubs since Victoria, hasn't wielded a whip or a flogger, or had someone fall apart under his touch, and he finds himself burning for it every time he sees Peter. Finds himself wondering just how much it would take to put a werewolf under, wonders whether Peter's ever trusted anyone enough to find out.

He thinks about it at night, when he's lying in bed, eyes closed and hand wrapped around his hard cock. Thinks about opening Peter up one finger at a time until he's holding Chris' hand inside him, thinks about how hard he'd have to cane him for the stripes to stay across Peter's ass for longer than a heartbeat. He thinks about sliding into Peter, tight and hot and perfect, with his hand around Peter's throat and his teeth marks across Peter's shoulders.

Every night he jerks himself off to thoughts of Peter Hale on his knees, on his back. Jerks off to thoughts of the wolf tied down and spread out, with tears leaking from his eyes and pleasure coursing through him. And every night he comes to the imagined sounds of Peter gasping out his name, gasping out _yes--_ and _please--_ and _Chris--_

It comes to a head after other hunters come to town, hard and angry and resolute in their belief that all wolves need to be put down. Comes to a head when Derek and Peter get taken.

Chris ignores the looks his daughter gives him as he sweeps through the hunters, cutting them down where they stand. Ignores the rest of the pack behind him when they finally find their missing wolves. He knows what they're thinking, can hear the whispers.

Something ugly flares in Chris when he sees Peter, sees whip marks and cuts on his wolf that he didn't put there. And Chris wishes the hunters were still alive, just so he could kill them again. Because if there's been a part of him denying it before, then there's no question now. Peter Hale is his. His to mark and his to fuck and his to keep.

He refuses the help offered when he cuts Peter down, leaving the others to help Derek. And when Peter's fingers curl into Chris' shirt, when he leans into Chris and nuzzles into his neck, Chris just tightens his grip and holds Peter closer.

They end up back at Chris' apartment, Chris having made the turnoff as he'd watched the other cars all continue in the direction of the loft. Peter's sitting on the edge of the bath, red-tinged water swirling down the drain as Chris carefully washes the blood off him.

The marks on Peter are healing now, and Chris feels something inside him soothe at seeing them vanish, feels something waken in the need to replace them with his own. He runs his thumb over the last bruise on Peter's skin, the blue and purple already fading into nothing. Peter's eyes are wide, and Chris holds Peter's chin with his other hand, keeping Peter's gaze fixed on him as he presses sharply, almost feeling the bruise flare back into life under his touch.

The shuddered breath that comes from Peter has Chris pressing harder, quietly ordering Peter to keep his eyes open when they start to flutter shut. Chris eases his touch when Peter focuses back on him, a ring of bright blue surrounding black. Peter tries to lean forward, tries to chase Chris' touch, but Chris holds him steady.

"Listen to me, Peter." Chris voice is careful, deliberate, because he needs Peter to hear this, needs him to understand. "I need to know that you want this. I need to know that you understand exactly what it means." Because there's nothing Chris wants more than to put Peter on his bed and take him, than to put him on his bed and break him open until all that remains of Peter is want and need and sensation. But he won't. Not until he knows for sure that it's what Peter wants, that it's what Peter _needs_.

Peter looks at him for long moments, and there's a chill starting in Chris' stomach when the other man doesn't move. And then Peter nods.

"Words, pup," Chris says gently. "You need to use your words."

Peter's tongue licks at his lower lip as he lifts a hand, carefully wrapping his fingers around Chris' wrist.

Peter's fingers are hot on his skin as he tugs Chris' hand down. Chris' fingertips slide over Peter's chin and down his neck, until his thumb is over Peter's pulse point, and he can feel the soft _thump_ under him. Peter keeps his gaze on Chris' as he tilts his head to the side. "I want this. I want to be yours."

That Peter Hale just bared his neck to him, that he said the words Chris has been playing over in his mind since that night he freed Peter from the wolfsbane ropes, has Chris straining behind his jeans. But he pulls back on his first instinct, pulls back on the urgent desire to put Peter on his knees and feed the wolf his cock right the fuck now.

Because there's still the scent of blood and smoke clinging faintly to Peter's skin, still tremors running through the wolf finely enough that Chris almost can't feel them. Almost.

So he leads Peter out of the bathroom and into his bed. But instead of holding him down and fucking him (and, christ, he wants to do that desperately), he wraps himself around Peter, murmuring words softly as he tells Peter to sleep.

And when the morning comes, when the events of the past few days are gone and buried, Chris will wrap his fingers around Peter's wrists, will watch as bruises blossom on Peter's skin, signed with Chris' name. He'll push inside and shatter Peter open, and then he'll put him back together again.

But, for now, he holds his wolf and watches him sleep.


End file.
